A Dangerous Game
by h0lywood
Summary: Hermione Granger is barely alive, she is living in the "Survivor House" along with the few other wizards left in Britain. She believes her life will continue this way until she dies, until a dream and someone from her past changes it all. DH disregarded.


A Dangerous Game

The Voice

The world was not the same. Hermione could scarcely believe it was the same Earth that she'd ever set foot on, let alone lived on all her life. Her beautiful light, honey brown eyes swept over the destruction of the world around her, and they became moist, tears threatening to appear. After a ghastly war, lasting five endless years, the world was unrecognizable. Even so, Hermione knew this was a time to rejoice. The war was over! The world was at peace! And yet, somehow she wished that the war was still going on. Even amidst the fighting that had taken place, Hermione had found time to spend with her three best friends, Harry, Ron, and Ginny, everyday. But now all three of them were lost in the flames, just like the war itself.

The street that Hermione had been walking on now came to an end, and she noticed the symbolism of the road, brutally cut off by huge craters, the work of Dark Magic. Her life, which had been going forward, so promising, had suddenly stopped, just like this road, that would never be able to make it to where it had been going. Hermione worried that her life would end up like that as well.

She stared for the longest time, simply looking at the endless craters, some empty, others filled with bodies that were yet to be buried, or rather, thrown into roughly made wholes in the ground that happened to be around six feet deep. Her eyes scanned these craters, sometimes recognizing a loved one, now cold and slowly rotting away. Even as her eyes passed by the body of Ginny Weasley, Hermione's face was numb. She would not cry again. She'd already cried enough to last her a lifetime, and that was just since she'd seen the mangled bodies of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, forever gone thanks to the Dark Lord and a couple Death Eaters.

Hermione wandered around the craters for a little longer, before realizing how late it actually was. Then, finally, she disapparated with a small noise. This particular noise was hard to describe, but it full of sorrow, and kind of deflated, as if it had seen the world around it die and was not sure if there was any reason why it shouldn't just keel over and stop breathing forever, too.

When she materialized again, the twenty one year old was outside of a small, musty old house, slightly outside of London, England. The Survivor House, they called it, but Hermione frowned upon that name. Why bring attention to the fact there was about double the amount of dead bodies than there were wizards left? Why call is the Survivor House when the people who slept there at night were also the ones who often stared, broken, at the walls, desperately trying to recall times long forgotten that they had shared with these passed on loved ones? Why call it The Survivor House when the ones who called it home were practically suicidal? Why call it the Survivor House when they were dead inside, whereas it matters most to feel alive? Sometimes she thought the dead bodies she passed on the streets were more alive than herself. They certainly were more happy.

It were these thoughts that plagued Hermione when she'd first come to live there, and it were these thoughts that she wondered about now, as she gave the password and turned the once beautiful door knob, which in turn slowly opened for her, and Hermione slowly walked into the gloomy house.

Hermione was relieved when she saw that everyone was soundlessly asleep. The room she shared with Parvati Patil, Jeanne LuEine, Cho Chang, and Katie Bell was silent, except for the light breathing of the four women, and the quiet thumping of Hermione's shoes on the hard wood floor. She quickly yet quietly changed into her pajamas; a ragged, XL, white T-shirt and comfy flannel pajama pants. Then she made her way to the small bed that she'd slept on each night since the day after the ending of the war.

"_It's such a small comfort." _she though to herself, while settling on the tiny bed. Everything about the small place she called home now she had become overly attached to. All of her best friends were gone, so apparently she had resorted to drawing comfort from the only things she knew could never desert her. Things. Ever since the war ended, ever since she had watched almost every single one of her friends die, Hermione had broken away from people, who could leave her at any time, and drew closer to special things and ordinary things alike, because she could leave them whenever she wanted, but they could never leave her...

Sighing to herself, Hermione settled in for the night. She desperately wanted for the terrible thoughts of the war to stop plaguing her endlessly, but she couldn't see how she would ever stop. The war was etched in her mind forever, along with every single person who was in it... And then she was falling, falling, falling, into dreamland, into the deepest part of her mind...

_There was a room. It was very plain; actually, there very little in the room at all. Only a table with two chairs next to it, with a flickering candle sitting precariously close to the edge, on the small table. Hermione wondered what all this was about. "I am supposed to sit?"_ _she wondered aloud._

"_Yes." spoke a voice, from a figure she could not yet see. However, she recognized the voice. It sounded vaguely familar, as if she had heard it many years ago, and had almost forgotten about it. _

"_Why am I here?" she asked the voice. Even though she still didn't know exactly who it was, somehow she trusted it. Somehow, Hermione knew the owner of the voice meant her no harm. _

"_Why are you here?" The voice sounded mildly amused. "Why, if I told you, that would be cheating."_

_Hermione frowned. "You talk of this as if it is a game."_

_Again, the voice sounded faintly amused. "Well, to me, it is sort of like a game."_

_Hermione's frown grew."Why do you sound so amused? I don't find anything about this funny." And with that, she turned around, intent on walking away from the voice._

"_Wait, I'm not finished talking to you yet!" The voice protested. It seemed to be getting closer to her, Hermione realized._

"_You may not be done talking, but I _am _done listening." Hermione told the voice defiantly. _

"_Well," The mysterious voice replied, recognizing defeat. "Alright. I guess I'm finished for now."_

_With that, Hermione ran, but realizing there was a dead end that way, she turned around, and nearly bumped into– _

Hermione gasped. Her eyes flew open. Thank God it had all been a dream! Heart racing, she sat up in bed. Yes, it had only been a dream. But, that dream had told her something very true, and very bad. As she sat there, her heart still racing, trying to catch her breath again, she knew in heart something that she wished was not true. Draco Malfoy was alive.


End file.
